


Section F-7

by levigate



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Mindfuck, POV Second Person, character exploration through porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2612432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levigate/pseuds/levigate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Subject Number 58, Test 92A.  Electrode placement in M-33 pain region, ineffective. Anticipate greater results with stimulation of section F-7, the "consent" region of the neocortex."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Section F-7

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd, because I'm a little embarrassed. I have never written anything like this, and never used 2nd Person POV before, so if anyone has any suggestions feel free. It was a fun experiment. Hopefully it's a good read. Please let me know how I did :) Based on one of the audio logs in the game. 
> 
> Also it turned way longer than I had anticipated.
> 
> Edit: fixed a couple left-over 'she' and 'her' that shouldn't have been there. Remembering to stay in second person is HARD.

You don't know how long you've been here. You don't know how you got here, or why you're here. Your cell is small, and cold. One wall is made of iron bars, a chain with heavy padlock keeping you in. There is a bed along one wall, taking up most of the space, but you'd never consider getting near it. The mattress is old, lumpy, and looks as though it is infested with some sort of insect. You sit in the far corner of your prison, as far away from both the bed and the bars as possible. You feel ill. The air is stale, and smells like someone died. People have died. The person who was in the cell from you was taken away and never came back. Sometimes you think you can still hear his pained moans, haunting your sleep. Your only companion now is the faint ringing in your ears and accompanying migraine.

You hear the creaking slam of a door and curl into yourself, knowing what will happen next. You are so tired, so very tired, but there is fight in you yet, and you promise yourself that this time, you will escape. The man's steps are slow and confident, tattered once-white clothes making him wraith-like. If it is a man, for what man could do the things he does? Surely he must be a ghost or specter of some kind. He couldn't possibly be alive, not with those painful scars covering his body. 

He stops outside your cell, and simply stares. You look up at him hatefully, full of contempt. You try not to show weakness at the rawness of his gaze, the sheer loathing and rage you see there, hating that he has turned that fearsome gaze to you. You brace yourself, knowing what is coming, muscles tensing out of habit. One moment he is outside your cell, the next he is not even a foot in front of you, warm hand grasping your arm tightly, pulling you up. If he is a spirit, he is remarkably solid.

"No, let me go!" you scream, hitting him and pulling away, but he is unfazed, as always. Slowly he drags you behind him, out of your cell, chain suddenly gone, door open. He pulls you, kicking and screaming past the rows of empty cells. You remember when they were full, now you are the last. You pass through familiar hallways, past destroyed paintings and once elegant splendor turned ruined and wretched, a shade of its former self. You are jarred out of your thoughts when he takes an abrupt turn, going down an unfamiliar hallway and through an open door.

This couldn't be good. Knowing that you're going to be tortured, flesh stripped before being sewn back on, was bad enough. But this was terrifying. What was going to happen next? Was it finally your turn to die? Or would this lead to some new horror, some new way to make you scream. He throws you roughly into the room and you note your surroundings with a horrified grimace. This room was at least somewhat clean, no blood at least, only dust. The floor was soft under your bare feet, carpet taking away some of the ever-present chill. A cold fireplace was on one wall, long unsued.

The large bed in the center of the room dominates your attention, however. You have a sinking suspicion and sink to the floor, crying. He presses a button on an old cassette player on a nightstand and begins speaking, his voice harsh. You can only cry, pleading to someone, anyone, for it is obvious pleading to him will do no good. He comes toward you slowly and you scramble back, scramble away, searching for anything you can to defend yourself. 

"No! Stay away!" you shout, hitting him and raking your fingers against his face, but it doesn't affect him, and he continues to speak, recording his notes verbally. You don't listen to him, more intent on fighting.

Abruptly the ringing in your ears crescendos, and the throbbing headache becomes a sharp pain, and you are down, clutching your head in your hands. He places his hand on your head, and you still, the pain gone at his touch, though the ringing remains. You take a calming breath, before coming back to yourself and pushing his hand away. He tightens his grip and you lower your hands, hissing at the return of pain, though you know it is a pithy amount compared to what he has already done to you. You look up at him and he doesn't seem to be looking at you, instead staring off at the distance, face somewhat unsure. He catches you looking at him and his usual cold mask replaces itself. He tugs on your hair and you follow his motion, standing up before him. His hand trails down your hair as you rise, coming to rest on the side of your face and neck, a subtle threat. He moves towards you, kissing your lips with his scarred ones. He kisses the way he does everything, cold and dispassionate. His eyes are open and observing you. You move away in revulsion but he holds you in place, one hand on your waist and sliding down your backside to rest on the curve of your butt. The warmth from his hand burns, radiating through the threadbare cotton skirt you wear.

He forces you to accept his kisses. "Submit," he whispers, warm breath against your lips, his scent reminding you of the campfires of your youth.

"No," you whimper, and the headache is back, small for now but you know it's just waiting to return in greater force. You shuffle backwards, trying to break out of his grasp and he chuckles and moves with you, until your back is against the wall and there is nowhere else to go. He moves the hand behind you to your waist, slipping it in your shirt. His touch is detached as he rubs his thumb just above your hip, but you welcome the small amount of heat. Your prison is always so cold and the man was so warm, radiating like a furnace. 

"Yes," he argues, and kisses along your shoulder and neck, little pricks of fire that warm you. His kisses are becoming longer, softer, though his eyes are the same as ever, watching your reactions carefully. 

You once again struggle to move, hands pushing against him, and he takes your wrists and slams them against the wall at your side. You let out a small cry as he pushes you back, grinding you into the wall. He kisses the corner of your mouth, and you find yourself meeting him, trying to escape the chill of the wall, even if it means moving towards your captor. His kisses are more heated now as he presses you painfully into the wall, caging you with his body. His tongue flickers against your teeth, and you open your mouth to scream as his fingers dig into your wrists. Your response only seems to excite him; his eyes are lidded and heavy, pupils wide. You close your eyes against his gaze, finding it worse than the usual hate or dispassion you usually find there. 

He moves your arms up as he kicks your feed apart, grinding against your private parts through your skirt. It is too much and your knees give out. He holds you up, with one arm, the other hand cupping your rear. He heaves you up over his shoulder, hand rubbing appreciatively. He throws you onto the bed and looks down on you,; your breath stills as you meet his pale eyes. 

His hands play with the hem of your skirt as he crawls between your legs, slowly dragging the material upwards. You shiver at the contrast of his rough fingertips against your soft skin, at the tickling as he pulls your skirt up. Everywhere he touches leaves a lingering warmth. He rubs your inner thigh and you squirm. He presses sharp fingertips into your delicate flesh as a reminder to hold still before continuing his explorations. The fabric bunches together as he moves his hands upward, past your waist, hands resting on the sides of your stomach. He moves his fingers gently, delicately, a ghost of sensation, before moving back down. His fingers stop on the sides of your hips, thumbs rubbing circles under the material of your underwear, teasing. He hooks his fingers in the garment and begins pulling it down. 

It is too much. You can't let him do this. Abruptly you twist your body and scramble towards the other side of the bed, fingers clawing desperately at the comforter. Your movement is impaired with your underwear at your knees and you kick it off, hitting him in the process with a bare foot. He grabs at you and you scream as his fingers sink into your calves, pulling you back towards him. You look at him and are surprised to see him smiling. You realize that, like before, your resistance only fuels him. 

"Shhhh," he whispers in a parody of kindness as he pulls you into his lap. His hand is under your skirt, fingers cupping your sex. He simply holds his hand there, and warmth blossoms at his touch. The ringing in your ears intensifies. You don't know which way to move, it is all so nice. His chest is warm against your back, and you don't protest as he removes your shirt and unhooks your bra. His hand cups your breast, and you can feel your nipple harden. The hand at your sex moves towards the other nipple, and you relish the feeling. You let him hold you, leaning against him unconsciously. He laughs in your ear darkly, and it should be sinister but you're too far gone to care.

"You are mine. Everything about you belongs to me. If you feel pain," he twists your nipple and pulls hard, eliciting a gasp," it is my will. And if you feel pleasure," he rolls his hips against you, drawing a gasp of a very different sort from your lips, "it is my will. Do you understand?" You nod meekly. He kisses your neck and you can feel his smile.

He shoves you away from him. "Then take off your skirt." Your face flushes. It is one thing for him to undress you, another thing entirely for you to remove your clothing of your own free will. 

"I will not ask again," the rage is back, and you hurriedly move to follow his orders, quickly sliding the garment off. You drop your skirt to the side of the bed to join the rest of your clothes on the floor. 

You shiver, naked in front of him. The warmth is fading, and you want it back. You would do almost anything to get it back. He watches you carefully, probably noting the exact shade of your blush. 

"Don't move," he orders as he moves to stand near the empty fireplace. He stands there, back towards you for several minutes as he breathes deeply, as though to calm himself. You sit obediently, waiting for him. Finally he turns to face you, and you see the remains of uncertainty before it's smothered. 

"Come here," he says, and you slither off the bed to crawl towards him, taking care to move slowly and to sway your hips slightly. He takes a deep breath before giving you another order. "Take off my pants."

You obey, hands reaching up slowly. Carefully, you pull down his leggings, making sure not to let the fabric catch on his scars. You don't know if they still hurt him, but they look painful. He holds himself completely immobile as you undress him. It is like undressing a statue, he is so still; only shallow, controlled breathes give hint that he is alive. You run your hands along his toned legs after he steps out of his pants, enjoying the warmth radiating there. 

"Look at me," his gaze is heated, with a strange, underlying emotion you cannot identify.

"Touch me," he commands. You look at his cock, noting that while there is a little scarring at the base it is still intact. You reach up, gently wrapping your hands around his half-hard member and pull gently. He shudders at your touch and closes his eyes. You rub, occasionally moving a hand further back to graze his balls.

"Suck me," and you hesitate at that. You've never given a blowjob before. He mistakes your hesitation for refusal and opens his eyes, angry at being disobeyed. Hurriedly you bring your mouth to his cock, lips sucking gently on the head. He's so warm, and you open your mouth wide, as wide as you can, careful of your teeth. He gasps at the sensation, and you feel pleased with yourself. You're sure that you're sloppy, but he doesn't seem to care, judging by the strangled gasp he makes as you suck. Hopefully your enthusiasm makes up for your inexperience. You bring your hands up to cup his balls, rolling them gently around in your hands. He still hasn't moved at all, and you find yourself disappointed as he stays in that in-between state between soft and fully hard. You try harder, hollowing your cheeks as you suck and tease, playing with the head with your tongue.

His hands come to the side of your face and grip at your hair as he thrusts abruptly. You can't keep up and let him thrust, trying not to gag as he goes too far. You hold your mouth open, jaw aching as he takes. You can taste his precome as he hardens, salty on your tongue. He moves, ignoring the chocking sounds you make as he uses you. With a shudder he pulls away, and you breathe in great gulps of air. 

"Get on the bed," he commands, and you move eagerly. You go on your hands and knees on the mattress, rolling your hips as you look over your shoulder, trying to look as appealing as possible. He smiles at your eagerness, and when he places his hands on your ass you know you are his. There will be no hesitation this time. He reaches his fingers between your legs and scratches, and you buck, moving away from the pain but towards the pleasure. He laughs.

You twist around on the bed, not to fight this time, but to move towards him and place your lips against his. He presses against you, and you bring your arms up to caress his chest. You sit on the edge of the bed, his hardness rubbing against your sex as his hands slide against your sides. You reach up, hands moving towards his face and he abruptly stops you, hands clenching your grasping fingers, and pulling away, eyes searching yours for something. You don't know what he's looking for, and you kiss him again. He releases your hands and allows you to continue as you remove his hood and slide his tattered jacket off this body. He searches your eyes again as you glance over his thin, ravaged body. You realize he's expecting a certain reaction, but you are going to have to disappoint him this once, and make it up to him later. You kiss him again, quick soft ones in succession along his jaw before ending at his mouth

If the man is surprised by your reaction, he hides it well. He hoists you up onto his hips, and you can feel his cock against your ass. You wrap your legs around him and rub. He shuffles forward, positioning both of you on the bed. You lay under him, meeting his heated stare with one of your own. His legs are now on either side of yours, his body caging you and you are content. He leans down, kissing you again, strong and hard this time, confident that you will not resist. He seems content to do so and you reach down.  
"No," he breathes out, and you stop your movement. "Put your hands behind your head and don't move them." You whimper as you obey. It seems so unfair for him to be able to touch while you have to hold still. He kisses and suckles at your breasts in turn and you gasp at the heat of his mouth. You rock upward and his arms are there, pushing you down as he laughs at your cries. 

"Please, sir," you don't know his name. He has never told it to you.

"No. But you may continue to beg. Perhaps I will even grant you mercy," he laughs, and licks a trail up your collar to under your ear. The heat he leaves behind is so pleasant. You need more of it. The ringing in your ears intensifies.

"Please, please, sir. Take me, fuck me, please. Please don't stop," you cry, knowing you're babbling, but unable to stop it. He ignores you, continuing to suck and lick wherever he chooses. He plants a string of hickeys along your collar while you beg. You're crying when he moves down to play at your belly, hands kneading your breasts.

"Please, sir. I can't take it anymore," your entire body trembles at the strain of holding still while he plays with your pussy, fingers thrusting in and out. You want more, his thrusts are shallow and you are ready.

"Do you submit?" he asks, voice rougher than usual. 

"Yes!" you cry. "Yes yes yes," and he lines his member up to your lips and he is teasing you again, holding himself there. You try to move but his hands are on your hips, long fingers pressing down. You try to move anyway, despite the pain as his fingers dig into your flesh.

“You don't look submissive to me,” he says, and you groan in frustration as you try to still your body. It takes a moment, but it is easier with his hands there, reminding you that he is in control. He waits, watching you until he is satisfied with your obedience. Slowly, far too slowly, he slides himself in, testing you. You shudder around him, your pussy clenching as it pulls him in. You're so warm now, your body is on fire and it's all you've ever wanted. You try to hold yourself still as he moves. You clench your muscles around his cock, squeezing and massaging his member, encouraging him to move faster. He answers your unspoken plea and leans down, his weight on his forearms, kissing you again. 

“You may move,” he breathes into your mouth, and instantly your hands are around his neck and you are thrusting upwards, meeting him eagerly. His cock feels so good as he moves, pulling out until only the tip is in before surging forwards. He moans as you kiss him again, hot and hard. You can't help but marvel at the change in his demeanor as he licks at your lips, passionate and demanding. He thrusts again and you gasp at the sensation.

“You are mine,” he says, and you find yourself babbling again. The heat is rising and you can't think. “Yes, sir. Yes,” you can only find yourself agreeing. You are close, so close, and the rub of his cock along your walls feels so good. You reach down and place a finger on your clit, rubbing gently.

“Mine to do with as I please,” he continues. You only nod your head against his neck, overwhelmed by sensation. 

“Come,” he whispers, and you do, only able to obey. It feels like you are dying, burned up inside as he releases into you, pussy spasming as he thrusts deeply. You can't breathe, can't think as you are consumed by the raging fire that is this man. His thrusts become slower, more gentle as the flame dies down in both of you. You gaze at him fondly as the hazy afterglow settles in. He moves off of you and onto his side, staring at you intently, searching. You still aren't sure what he is looking for. You hope he finds it. 

He shakes his head and gets off the bed and you make a little sound in protest as he stands. He pulls his pants back on, and then jacket. He presses a button on the cassette player and you half listen as you play idly with a strand of your hair. 

“Subject imprint only partially successful. Individual personality traits linger.” 

You don't know what he's talking about but you can't bring yourself to care as you slip into exhausted slumber, the ringing in your ears finally dying down.


End file.
